


The Good, the Bad, and the Undead

by mwildsides



Category: Batman (Comics), Captain America (Comics)
Genre: Anal Sex, Blow Jobs, Knifeplay, M/M, VERY INCREDIBLY UNSAFE KNIFEPLAY, because both universes exist, dead sidekicks, just shh, obviously, possible dubcon just a little, super super au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-10
Updated: 2012-09-10
Packaged: 2017-11-13 23:00:27
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,467
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/508651
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mwildsides/pseuds/mwildsides
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Bucky likes Gotham, he honestly does. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Good, the Bad, and the Undead

**Author's Note:**

> wasn't going to publish because of how incredibly terrified/self conscious I am of this and my writing of Jason cause I've not done it before but it's late so here take it

Bucky likes Gotham, he honestly does. It doesn’t pretend to be something it’s not. 

New York is great, it’s home and all, and is a pretty honest city too, but Gotham is... well it’s just Gotham, isn’t it, home of the Batman and The Joker and Harvey Two-Face and a thousand and one other psychopaths. Bucky wonders if it’s got the highest number of bat-shit crazy villains per capita, because that wouldn’t be far off. He sees his fair share, but man, this place takes the cake. The crazy, crazy cake. 

The rain keeps the smells off the streets, if only for a little while, but the people are out in full force, and they’re the kind of people who feel alright walking around Gotham this late at night. Bucky hikes up his collar, shrugs the sides of his jacket in close to his body, not raising his head to look as another guy passes him on the slick sidewalk. As seemingly dangerous as this place is, he doesn’t feel threatened by any of them. The criminals aren’t the ones he has to worry about, but he minds his own business because he’s not here to fight some tweaked out kids looking for some spare change. 

He makes his way through half-familiar streets, glancing up at the rooftops here and there. It’s not easy to catch anything that passes over them, or between the shadows, but Bucky can usually feel it. Not here, though, and not yet, so he winds through a few more streets. 

How he finds these places each time without knowing, Bucky isn’t 100% clear, but knows it has something to do with his work back at the Red Room, all the shit they put in his head without his leave. It helps now, he reads the little signs, the tiny bits and pieces that are inevitably left behind, no matter how hard a person tries. He won’t lead on that’s what it is; it’s never really an issue how he finds the safe-houses, he just does. 

Bucky stares up at a building where a plastic sign clings to its red brick sides, yelling “APARTMENTS FOR LEASE! STARTING IN THE 100’s!”. The whole place has no windows, so either it’s still being worked on, or something happened to it. Either way, he knows it’s the place. Theres a fire escape on the side of the building, something he’s been familiar since the 30’s, so he swing’s up to grab the ladder, and starts his ascent. It’s easy, and it feels good, and he swings in a “window”, and yeah, the whole place is unfinished, or sort of is. This apartment, however, is currently not occupied, so Bucky knows it’s the wrong one. 

Shaking rain off the leather of his jacket and then out of his hair like a wet dog, Bucky makes for the door, and glances around the dark hallway outside. There’s a little lock-picking damage on a door not far to his left, and he smiles. The door is, surprisingly and _un_ surprisingly unlocked, so he lets himself in, and it’s the right one. Peeling out of his jacket, he looks around; there’s a mattress and a TV in what’s probably supposed to be the living room--both stolen no doubt. The plastic sign, like a tarp, flaps outside where the windows should be, but it sort of serves to keep the rain out, and the floors under them are only a little wet. Bucky tosses his jacket on the bed, and meanders into the kitchen. 

There are exactly two and a half beers in the fridge, and a pizza box, but Bucky doesn’t bother with that, just grins and the bottles before he takes one. He cracks it open on the counter, and turns back to the rest of the apartment. They’re all right digs, for being half-abandoned, or whatever the hell they are. Probably luxury apartments, which just would not go over in the maze that was Gotham’s downtown area. Swilling his beer, Bucky saunters back to the bed, and flops down on the edge. There are no sheets, no blankets, no pillows, just the stolen TV remote that goes to the stolen TV, but Bucky doesn’t risk clicking it on. Just sips his beer and waits. 

It’s an hour, maybe, before he catches the sound of the footfalls he’s been expecting. They’re quiet, just as always, carefully so, but not carefully enough. Bucky smiles into the rim of his warm beer, takes another sip and waits. The mattress squeaks behind him, rambunctiously, and next thing he knows, the bottle is knocked from his hands, and there’s an arm under his chin, another cocking his head to the side, gloved fingers in his hair. 

“Hey to you too kid,” Bucky chuckles, though it’s a bit tight with the arm around his neck. 

“Told you to stop calling me kid,” Jason squeezes with his right arm, and Bucky reaches up to grab both of his arms tight, his left hand on Jay’s shoulder. He lurches forward, rolls them both like that till Jason’s back hits the floor, hopefully not hard, and Bucky crouches next to him. And he’s gotta admit, in that get up, the kid--because really, in Bucky’s eyes, he _is_ practically a kid--looks pretty menacing, or maybe it’s just the expressionless face of that helmet. 

“And who the hell said you could drink my beer?” Jason spits back, and gets to his feet swiftly. For all that Bucky thinks he’s young, he sure as shit can’t deny he can move. He’s good, too, can almost take the Winter Soldier. Almost. 

“Are you even old enough to _buy_ beer, or did a friend nab that for you?” Bucky grins up at Jason as he pulls off his helmet. He scowls at the older man, even from behind the domino.

“Fuck you.” He walks past Bucky, maybe for the bedroom or the washroom, but Bucky just chuckles and holds back another snide comment. 

Jason’s quiet, too, for the most part, so until he’s right next to Bucky, he isn’t heard. 

“What are you even doing here?” He asks, and he’s got that domino off--thank god, because really, Bucky isn’t a poetic guy, maybe not even sentimental, but jesus, the kid’s eyes are just a _crazy_ shade of blue. Like the water around icebergs, or some other sort of cold... blue thing...

Bucky stands, rolling his eyes as he looks at Jason. “It’s near four AM, the fuck else am I supposed to be doing?” He’d been sleeping, actually, but woke around one in a cold sweat, and didn’t want to wake Steve again, so he’d come for the comfort of Gotham, instead, rough as it may be. 

“Dunno, fucking that star-spangled friend of yours or-” Jason cocks a smile, but Bucky doesn’t give him time to finish, just shoves him back and back, till his back hits one of the walls. Bucky gets an elbow under his chin. 

“Don’t even start,” he hisses, and this is generally how it goes; they toss around jabs and insults till someone gets insulted, and it gets physical, then _real_ physical. Or something like that. Sometimes Bucky likes to skip the first two steps. 

“You asked,” Jason shoves at him, and Bucky lets him, taking a step back, but he’s still tense all over. He’ll take some shit from Jason, alright, that’s probably part of this, but not when it comes to Steve. Jay gets just as nasty when Bucky brings up the Bat, but even then if he does, he’s going for the jugular with that one. This has been going on long enough that they know how the hell to push each other’s buttons. 

“It was a rhetorical question,” Bucky says lowly, and watches as Jason peels out of his brown leather jacket and cocks an eyebrow. 

“Well maybe you should be,” he nods at Bucky, and moves into the other room again, maybe (hopefully) getting out of that armor of his. 

“Should be what?” Bucky asks, disinterested, and looks at his hands, toes at the bottle on the floor, making it slosh what little beer was left in it. 

“Sticking it in your friend,” Jason calls, and Bucky shakes his head, “Y’know, instead’a me,” In the bedroom doorway, Jay’s unbuckling the armor, pulling it off, and giving Bucky a shit-eating grin, “Or maybe vice versa, I don’t know.” 

“Pretty sure he’s got a girl,” Bucky says off-handedly, and fuck, did he really need to say that? Was he complaining or...? “Anyway, I prefer it here at the League Of Dead Sidekicks.” 

Jason doesn’t like that, but lets it fly and tosses his armor on the floor, leaving him in a tight back undershirt. It’s a good look, Bucky thinks, and it’s incredible, really, that he’s got scars all up and down those arms, those arms that are more battle hardened than they should be. Maybe this goes for them both, but Jason’s more battered than he should be.

That isn’t to say Bucky pity’s him--or at least not completely. It’s not pity, but something else he can’t put a label on, maybe it’s how similar their circumstances are, and what Bucky sees of himself in Jason (or doesn’t), or just that he’s got a soft spot for this half-crazy, back-from-the-dead Red Riding Hood. He thinks, from time to time, that Jason has(had) a lot of potential to do something better than what he’s doing now. Whatever that is, Bucky isn’t clear on the details, just knows it’s sort of a “If you can’t beat ‘em,  join ‘em” theory that Jason’s working with. Or something like that, they don’t talk about it. 

“Cute,” Jason says from the kitchen, the light from the fridge spilling out into the living room/bedroom. He waltzes back out when Bucky paces over to the windows, just shy of where rain was pattering in the sill. 

“Nice digs, by the way,” He turns back to look at Jason, who walks up next to him at the rim of the little puddle of rain water. 

“They’ll do for a little while longer,” Jason sighs, “How the fuck do you find these places, anyhow?” That makes Bucky chuckle, humming with the laughter. 

“You’re not as smooth as you think you are, Jaybird,” he teases, reaching out to ruffle Jason’s hair, but he ducks away from that and scowls, “You’re a creature of habit.” Bucky gives, but even he doesn’t really know the rest. 

“Bullshit. You follow me?” Jason frowns, like he can’t believe Bucky just _tracked down_ his shabby little impromptu bachelor pad. 

“Yeah I spent two and a half hours looking for Red Hood on Gotham’s god damn rooftops--and hell I was here first,” Bucky shakes his head and laughs, but it’s mostly humorless, “You’re pretty consistent when it comes to the places you pick. Abandoned, but that’s a big fat given, isn’t it. And there are lock pick scratches on the door handle. Little things I doubt normal people would notice. I’d say you’re in the clear.” He winks at Jason. 

“Normal people?” Jay says after a while, arching an eyebrow in a sly sort of way. Bucky returns the expression, “It’s not normal people I’m usually worried about. Just Russian ex-super spies. Christmas tree decorations.” 

Bucky’s mouth goes tight; that’s how he’d explained the cryogenic stasis to Jason. _They put me away like Christmas decorations._ But he lets it go, this is just what they do. “Least they wanted me alive for something ‘n’ didn’t leave me to _dig_ my way outta the ground.” The smile Bucky shoots Jason as he reaches out and takes the kid’s beer is probably a bit much, too sharp and mean around the edges by half, but hey. Jason should be used to that shit by now. 

Used to it in the same way that Bucky isn’t at all surprised when Jason tackles him, and maybe he’s just using the last barb as an excuse, but at least he’s getting the ball rolling. The beer bottle clatters against the windowsill and tumbles out into the night, perhaps hitting some poor unsuspecting Gotham citizen on the head. 

Anyway, the way Bucky lands, with Jason on top of him, he’s lucky the wind isn’t knocked out of him. They’re of a height, and maybe weight, but Jason is a bit leaner, doesn’t have a cybernetic arm or titanium shoulder socket the way Bucky does. He’s wiry, after training from god knows how many people, where Bucky just isn’t. He’s kept his bulk, somehow, though he’s still about as light on his feet as Jason is. Again, training, up one side and down the other. 

He grunts and pushes against Jason, rolling them, and for a while, they grapple. It’s like this a lot; they tumble around, fight for dominance when really it doesn’t matter, but it never comes to blows. That isn’t to say pain isn’t a part of this; that’s probably the _biggest_ part of this, and the fact that it’s the only comfort they can take. Which probably says something about them both, but they have their issues, don’t they. 

So they pull and tug on each other a while, a hand in thick hair here, around a throat there, it’s good like that--it’s like foreplay to actual foreplay. It gets Bucky all warm after the cool of the night and the rain, gets his blood pumping the way sparring with Nat does, and god _damn,_ he thinks, he needs to take the kid back to the Tower where they can do this good and proper, but knows that is never going to happen. while Bucky is lost in that thought, Jason straddles him, gets a hand in his hair, and next thing Bucky knows, Jason’s holding a kris at his throat, though that shouldn’t be surprising. The tip of the blade grazes the side of his Adam’s apple, and when he looks up at Jason, the kid’s blue eyes are a little wild. 

“Have a Bat run in tonight?” Bucky breathes the question, and Jason’s upper lip curls a little. That’s a resounding _yes_. Again, Bucky knows the kid’s got a sore spot for the Bat, and that makes sense, he gets it, though thinks he hates his former mentor for the wrong reasons. He won’t say as much, but the thought arises every time he brings up that topic, “Christ, kid, you’ve got daddy issues up the fuckin’ wall.”

Bucky hisses when the knife nicks his throat, but he’s not surprised. Jason doesn’t take kindly to anything even remotely suggestive about him and the Bat, mostly because it’d all be true, but Bucky gets it. It’s probably painful to see the guy you loved, the one who taught you how to be something else, as the guy who let you down so god damn monumentally. Bucky gets it, he does, even if he never really blamed Steve for what happened. He couldn’t reach, that was that. Jason’s situation isn’t so simple. 

It’s weird, how silent he gets. He doesn’t give Bucky a jab back, just sits back, drives the kris into the wood next to Bucky’s head (a little to close for comfort), and starts to undo the big utility belt he uses on patrol. Bucky doesn’t smile even though he wants to, and reaches up with his left hand to tug the knife from the floorboards. 

“You got anything else?” Bucky mutters, squeezing the hilt of the kris, eyeing that stupid blade. It’s hard to work with, and the tip is sharp, but then it curves and isn’t worth shit. In a flash of movement, with his hands, Jason whips out another little throwing knife, only about four or five inches long with an edge that probably cut likes paper, that he holds out to Bucky, blade between his fingers and the hilt to the older man, “Is it just me or is this easier?” Bucky asks, sticking the kris in the floor again, this time next to Jason’s leg. 

“That old Russian brain’a yours is boring,” Jason mumbles, shifting over Bucky’s hips as he tosses his belt to the side. He flips the little knife over in his fingers, and stares down at Bucky, before he leans down  and rests an elbow to the side of the brunette’s head. Holding the knife at an angle, he drags the razor-thin blade up the curve of Bucky’s neck, just above his Adam’s apple. Bucky arches his neck a bit, the ghost of a smirk on his lips as he feels the blade rake against the grain of his stubble, and it wouldn’t have surprised him if it took some of it clean off, “Easy, but _boring_.” 

Jason turns the knife over in his fingers again, offering it up, and straightens his arm, but that’s as far as he sits up. Bucky looks down, considers asking Jason where that big black knife is, but decides against it, and takes the little one from Jason and sits up, quick to catch the younger man off guard. Jason grunts but goes with it anyway, sprawling out on his back under Bucky as he kneels between Jay’s legs, knife in hand. 

“Gets the work done, doesn’t it?” Bucky leans forward, again moving quick, and grabs the hem of Jason’s vest and _tugs._ Once the fabric is taught, he drives the knife up through it near the hem and pulls back, slitting open the soft fabric. Jason frowns, but Bucky just takes the torn fabric in both hands, and tears it straight up the middle with a little smile. Down to business. 

When the tear reaches the collar of the shirt, Bucky severs that too, and pushes the fabric back, revealing the expanse of Jason’s pale skin. Again, Bucky’s not one who thinks too long on these sorts of things, but Christ is Jason’s body fan-fucking-tastic. It’s mottled with scars, mostly crisscrossing over his abdomen, and shoulders, a few that are probably bullet holes, but in between are soft patches of skin. Bucky prefers the scars anyway, they make him feel not so fucked up, and Jason might get that too, he doesn’t know. 

They’re like lines on a map, and he knows these paths all too well, runs his fingers over them before he leans down to press his lips to one that traverses the curve of Jason’s hip bone. Bucky shuts his eyes and mouths along the silvery-pink skin of the scar, that one leading into another, a little higher, toward his navel and the thin trail of dark hair below it. Jason moves a bit, hips shifting, though he makes no sound and that will just not do. Opening his eyes to glance up at Jason, Bucky traces the tip of his tongue along an unmarred patch of skin on the younger man’s abdomen, licking his way up till he reaches Jason’s chest. 

There he withdraws a few inches, hefting the knife in his hand, though it’s light, and then considers the canvas of skin splayed out below him. It’s a nice sight, a nice feeling that he gets to do this, and on different nights, that he lets Jason do it right back and it’s amazing, intoxicating. Odd, how they trust each other implicitly like this when they barely know one another, yet know full well each other’s capabilities. Then again, like this, they’re not Red Hood or Winter Soldier; they’re nobodies, no homes, no families, nothing but scars and the point of a knife and heat. And it’s best that way. 

Bucky doesn’t look up again as he dips down to cover one of Jason’s nipples with his mouth without preamble. A bunch of touching and kissing and whatever doesn’t really go on here, they’re both pretty straight forward. Sucking lightly, Bucky closes his teeth around the hardened nub between his lips, and bites, just this side of two hard, and that at least makes Jason writhe slightly. He laves his tongue over Jason’s nipple and draws away, bringing his right hand up as he supports himself with the other. 

It’s a bad position he’s in, so Bucky straddles one of Jason’s thighs, which almost immediately presses up into his crotch, and Jason gives him a look, only his eyes smiling. Narrowing his eyes, Bucky looks over Jason’s torso for a few moments, considering. He recognizes the scars he’s made, because they’re neat, all straight, parallel lines, down Jay’s ribs, his sternum, following the lines of his hip bones, and that didn’t include the ones on his back. Bucky doesn’t know which he likes more. 

After about a minute, he makes up his mind and leans over Jason again, bringing the knife up to where his collarbones _almost_ meet under the hollow of his throat. Again, Jason fidgets, and Bucky looks up at him. 

“You want me to eviscerate you, or what?” He cocks an eyebrow, and Jason grins, bright and too sharp, “Quit moving.” He moves his knee up quick between Jason’s thighs, and maybe that was a bit too hard, because Jay winces and bites his bottom lip. It’s not a far off guess to say he likes that too. 

“Hurry up then,” Jason replies flippantly, waggling his eyebrows, but the expression gets cut off when the thin edge of the knife bites into his chest. It’s not deep, Bucky’s careful to keep it at that because it’s a messy business to get blood everywhere, and unsanitary at that. Anyway, like this, keeping them shallow, Jason will feel ‘em like paper cuts every time he moves. Bucky makes the cut perpendicular to Jason’s sternum, and keeps them that way. He moves down an inch, makes another score about three inches long. 

Jason’s face screws up for a moment until Bucky is done with the second incision, then he sighs, the tail end of it catching on a quiet moan. Bucky cocks a half smile, satisfied with that, so he goes on leaving marks. He takes his time making four more cuts down to the very end of Jason’s sternum, and just for good measure, presses the tip of the knife down a bit harder, making a deeper mark just under his sternum where his belly is soft. 

While he’s been mostly quiet, Jason gives a gusty sigh then, and when Bucky looks up, he sees the kid has a flush from his cheeks down to his pecs. The marks on his chest are an even angrier red, but boy do they look good against the rest of Jason’s pale skin. 

“You done already?” Jason pants, and is that disappointment in his voice? 

“Doesn’t sound like it,” Bucky chuckles lowly and moves to kneel between Jason’s legs again, then sits back on his heels, “Turn over, Red.” He gives the inside of the other man’s knee a poke with the tip of the knife, and palms himself with the other hand. He knows there aught to be a bit of shame somewhere in the recesses of his fucking ramshackle consciousness, but theres none. A while ago he’d thought about why the hell making these little red tracks in someone’s skin got him off, but figured that, after about 70 years bathing in blood at the beck and call of the Soviet Union, what’s a little more blood in the bedroom? 

That doesn’t even begin to explain it, but.

Jason moves as Bucky said, though not without a reluctant grunt and narrowed eyes. The other man simply smiles and waits, glancing down at the knife in his hand as Jason gets sprawled out on his front. Bucky palms himself again, gripping his gradually hardening cock through his trousers and licking his lips.  Jason pushes himself up on his elbows, making the muscles in his back bunch and flex as he supports himself, glancing over his shoulder, though he doesn’t look at Bucky. This time, Bucky straddles Jason’s hips, but keeps his weight off of him, and settles his left hand on the younger man’s shoulder. The metal is still a bit cool after the journey to Gotham, but Jason doesn’t seem to notice. 

With his right, Bucky brings the knife up to the back of Jay’s neck, and presses down against the knobs of his spine. Slowly, he draws his hand down the length of Jason’s back, keeping the knife in line with his spine. Bucky makes this one a bit deeper, knowing it’d be felt every time Jason moved, just like the others on his chest, for it ran the whole length of his spine, ending just under the hem of his pants. Sitting back to admire his work, Bucky lets out a breath he didn’t know he was holding and cards a hand through his hair. He’s warmer now, hot, even though there’s still a steady breeze blowing in with the rain. 

 

 

 

Using all of the careful, easy grace that Bruce had taught him, and many others after that, Jason gets to his feet and turns to look down at Bucky who...stays on his knees. His chest and back burn with little slivers of pain, but it’s good, always is, and he rolls his shoulders a bit to feel it again. A satisfied smirk bends his lips, and he reaches forward, curling his fingers under Bucky’s chin as he pushes a thumb between the brunette’s lips. Bucky makes a face. 

“I’w shtill gaw a nnf n mw hwnd, kd,” he mumbles, and Jason laughs. 

“Yeah I saw that, figured you were done with it, old man,” If he’s _still_ going to get called kid, then Bucky gets it right back. Either way, he closes his lips around Jason’s thumb and sucks, even as it presses down against his tongue. Then he feels something against his crotch, a little sharp even through his pants. He inhales a bit sharply, because he knows what _that_ is, “Point taken. Open up.” Again he presses his thumb down on Bucky’s tongue, feeling the edge of his teeth as well. 

Drawing his hand away, Jason moves both to the button and zip of his pants, working them open quickly. Bucky, incidentally, was doing the same thing just as Jason was pushing down the front of his jock to free his rapidly filling length. Wrapping a hand around it, he sighs and licks his lips, which Bucky does too, like he’s _hungry_ for this, and the look in his eyes might just hint to that same thing as well. Jason takes a step forward, hand still on his cock, which gives a twitch as Bucky opens his mouth, pink tongue sliding over his bottom lip. 

“Damn,” Jason sighs, because really, is that a nice look on Bucky. He smiles subtly, touching the tip of his tongue to his top lip as he shifts a little further forward till the head of his cock brushed over the warm wet of Bucky’s tongue. Almost immediately the other man pushed Jason’s hand away in favor of gripping him himself as he flicked his tongue over the head of Jason’s dick, before pulling away to stroke him slowly. Again Bucky licked his lips, and Jason sighed, tipping his hips forward and bringing a hand up to his chest, pressing the rough pads of his fingers against the fresh marks in his skin. 

Before Jason can even so much as look down at him, Bucky’s lips slide down and around his cock, wet and hot and too fucking good. Something between a sigh and a moan leaves Jason, and as Bucky pulls back and off, he knots a hand tight in the brunette’s hair, curling his fingers into a fist. Bucky looks up at him, and Jason can’t do that, so he looks up, away, at the wall, whatever, just as long as he avoids the other man’s eyes. He’d say it’s too intimate, but - no that’s exactly what it is, and he just doesn’t want to go there with Bucky because this isn’t intimacy, this is taking and sort of giving, but mostly the former. It’s easier that way, it’s _better_ that way. Jason’s had intimate, and that’s why he’s in the situation he’s in. 

_Bruce._

He desperately tries not to think the name, but it happens every fucking time, and there’s no end to Jason’s frustration, because he _hates_ , not only the feeling, but the man behind it. He just wants it to go away, to _end._

But Bucky’s a nice distraction until it does. That metal hand curls around Jason’s hip, and he starts a simple, shallow rhythm as he applies a gentle suction. It’s good. It’s alright. Jason lets his head loll back a bit and he looks at the ceiling, eyes fluttering closed a little as his hips tip forward to the warm wet of Bucky’s mouth. He begins to work up a rhythm, pushing down and down further each time till Jason can feel the tip of his cock brushing the back of Bucky’s throat, and man he’s got to have next to no gag reflex if that doesn’t bother him. 

And then he sucks _harder_ and slides down _more_ till his nose is nearly buried in the nest of black curls at the base of Jason’s cock, and his throat flutters around the head convulsively. Jason _moans_ then, unabashed and a little loud at the feeling of Bucky’s throat, until its tight grip is gone and the brunette is pulling away to take a deep breath. Sighing heavily, Jason looks down and, with the hand in Bucky’s hair, gives the other man a swift jerk, because he’s not in the mood to take this slow, not after tonight’s patrol. 

Bucky goes down again just as Jason’s got the image of Bruce falling into the shadows of an alley between two buildings. He’d been paralyzed, lurking in shadows of his own, but he felt a too breathless to make a move. Gritting his teeth, Jason shoved forward brutally into Bucky’s mouth, forcing his way in and down, making the other man choke. He pulls off with a gasp, attempting to shake Jason’s hand out of his hair. 

“Easy, little red,” His voice is a little ragged, wet like his lips and eyes, “You wanna do the work, fine.” With a shrug, Bucky leans forward to close his lips around the head of Jason’s cock, and stays still. 

Jason says nothing and pushes a hand through his hair, gripping Bucky’s a bit harder, and looks down at the other man. He doesn’t start slow, just thrusts forward into Bucky’s pliant mouth, though he doesn’t push all the way back just yet. Using the hand in Bucky’s hair to bring him a little closer each time, Jason fucks his mouth shallowly for a while, reveling in the very simple feeling of that. He sighed and reached up to prod at his chest again, harder, and how long has this sort of hurt been feeling this good? His skin is too hot around the marks, theres probably a smear of beaded blood under his fingers, and that’s even better. 

Even though Jason’s got the reigns, Bucky manages to pull off. “Spread your legs,” he says, voice thick as he nudges Jason’s thigh. The younger man does it, a little begrudgingly because he knows where this is going, but whatever. He spreads his legs as much as he can with his pants around his ankles and watches Bucky suck two fingers into his mouth--

“Not tonight,” Jason grits out, but he doesn’t do anything to stop Bucky when he moves his wet fingers back and into the cleft of his ass to press against his hole. Before he has the chance to protest any further, Bucky swallows Jason’s cock again, quick, like he’s going for distraction, which of course he is. Jason moans low in his throat, close lipped, and threads both hands into Bucky’s hair because he’s done playing around, he just wants to come. Needs to. 

Hands curling into fists, he _shoves_ forward, quick so Bucky gags, but he takes it anyway, doesn’t pull off again. His fingers do press though, press against and then _in,_ inside, and it’s his left hand, harder and more unforgiving than normal human flesh. As he thrusts forward, hard now because if that’s what Bucky wants, then Jason is going to get his first, he glances down on impulse--and isn’t disappointed my the view. Bucky’s brow is furrowed in concentration, and he’s all slack-jawed and sloppy-lipped, stubbled cheeks hollowed and fuck does his tongue feel good on the underside of Jason’s cock, working at it, pressing at the head when he can. Jason wonders, idly, where he got so good at sucking dick. The army, probably, or maybe the Ruskies decided to stick that in there between to how to break a guys neck and how to disassemble a Maxim-Tokarev in your sleep. 

He fucks Bucky’s mouth for a little while longer, till his knees are a little wobbly and it’s actually tough for him to keep moving, but Bucky picks up on that, and bobs his head, tightens his lips. Jason thinks Bucky knows him too well, knows his tells, and that’s something he can’t afford. It angers him that he’d just... _let_ this fucker in so easily, and he should have known that “just sex” is never “just sex”, especially if the guy you’re fucking is an ex-spy, or trained just about as well. 

But maybe it’s worth it because Bucky sucks him down and _stays_ there, swallowing convulsively and god it feels to let go, give it _up_ again in an echo of the way it kind of used to be when he had someone before who wanted more than this, but was just as focused, just as good. So he does, Jason just lets himself shove and take and grip too hard till he’s over the edge and moaning brokenly through it. And it’s been a while, so he’s dazed as fuck after coming and once Bucky swallows back his come, he _pulls_ Jason down, turns him, pushes at him--

Is this why Jason likes it? Bucky’s no where near as big as Bruce, no where near-- but Jesus can he take and his edge is just the same, or maybe the same as Jason’s. 

Still, he manhandles Jason--a bit gently--down to the mattress, and the younger man can’t argue because he’s in this sort of fucked up headspace where that metal hand might feel something like Bruce’s strength, then something inanimate when two fingers push _in._ He’d said not tonight but his skin stings just right and he’s still hazy, spinning, and the rain against that stupid fucking flapping sign is still quieter than his heart beating in his ears. 

The slight burn of Bucky sliding into him registers from a distance, it feels like, and Jason just lets out a breath, doesn’t concentrate on it. Headspace. Tunes out, and it’s not because he doesn’t want, he doesn’t give a shit what Bucky wants at this point, is fine with him taking, because honestly, sometimes it _does_ feel good to just get _fucked--_ but he just wants black. He wants black and white noise and nothing, blank so his mind doesn’t go to _Bruce, there, anything fuck--again_ and _Jay oh Jay--_

Or maybe he wants to go there, tune _Bucky_ out just cause, but he can’t, he’s very Bucky and not Bruce and his hand is cold and the sounds he makes are different, he moves different. Jason’s just caught between. 

Then again when isn’t he.

 

 

 

Bucky knows the kid’s somewhere else; his eyes are closed and he makes really soft noises like he never does. It’s off and a little weird, but for some fucked reason Bucky doesn’t stop because _heat_ and clench and his jaw hurts, but he’s close. He just shoves in again and again, gripping Jason’s hips to pull him back and meet each thrust, quick and dirty. Absently he wonders if a person can ever over-bruise, bruise so much that no cybernetic grip could ever bruise said flesh again, but he may be over-confident that his grip is all _that_ tight. That he affects Jason all _that_ much. 

He’s done quick, and when he comes, shivers through the little aftershocks, Bucky slumps against Jason’s back. When Bucky pulls his cock free, gentle but quick, the kid makes a desperate sound, coughs out a breath and falls to his elbows, forward a bit, so Bucky catches him with an arm around Jason’s waist. 

“Okay?” Bucky breathes, voice totally ragged because of how _used_ his throat was, but it’s nice. He might even ache a little tomorrow, but--

“Fine,” Jason bites back as he throws a lazy elbow, sign enough that he doesn’t want Bucky leaning over or checking on him, “Get off.” Like that, and he moves just as Bucky does, pushing up so he’s kneeling on the bed. He watches Jason get up, tug his pants and jock up with quick, measured--angry?--motions, as he does up his own, and licks his lips.

Things are always this sort of “that’s that” way, and Bucky’s actually not all that upset about it. He thinks he should be, but when he gets up and runs his hands through his hair, he feels more settled, and ready to just go back home, or at least the floor in the Avengers mansion that he and Steve call home. When he stands up, the water is running somewhere else in the little apartment, and christ is Jason _showering?_ Bucky doesn’t exactly get insulted about the fact that they go their separate ways after the fuck, sometimes immediately, but that’s a bit... much? Did he feel _violated?_

Bucky stands in the middle of the bare living room for a while, jaw clenched as he tries to decide if he should go _check,_ but water and tile and an angry Jason might end in a concussion for either party. Instead he just shakes his head, a little irked now too, grabs his jacket, and heads for the door. 

 

Outside, he gets it. The rain has tapered down to a drizzle now that it’s nearly dawn, and it feels good against Bucky’s skin as he swings down from the fire escape, and starts back down Gotham’s streets. It feels _better,_ the cool wet, after the apartment, and he’s glad he can walk away from that place, somehow; Jason can’t, and Bucky knows that’s where that _bite_ the kid has comes from. He just can’t get away from himself, which, in the long run, is probably more dangerous than his skill with a knife.

**Author's Note:**

> also it's unbeta'd and I can't read my own writing so point anything out if you see it.


End file.
